Surprises

One of the perks of working in hospice is that I get to be outside a lot. I drive from home to nursing home within a 30 mile radius of the hospital. There is a lot of open space out here amongst the fields of corn and soybeans, yet each turn can sometimes surprise you.

I think of this part of the country as generally flat, but there are some hills and curves to the roads. While taking that sharp left curve I'm stilled awed by the spread of gleaming white wind turbines (windmills to the more romantic of us) that pop out of the earth. They look like they were planted there. A beanstalk to jack's world in the clouds, only this time on the wind. I want to paint them, but I think they might lose some of their glory.

Surprises at every turn, when you think you can see for miles.

I almost cried today. It surprised me. I have been working with hospice for 6-7 months and I have felt very little emotional tugs on the tear ducts. (I wondered about that, too, but that's another entry). I couldn't pin down what made today different. I was listening to an achingly sad song on the radio... and maybe that's what spurred it... but I don't know. I think it's because for the first time, I have a connection to one of the clients.

I moved here 15 months ago knowing only my uncle and my parents. I had never lived here before, my parents moved here when I was in college. When I was first starting my massage business, a coworker of my mother's (P) bought a gift certificate for her mother, E. It was kind of like when I was in Girl Scouts and your mom brings the cookie order form to work with her and passes it around to all the other employees. I was grateful, she would be my very first client.

After that first time, I didn't see her again, though I did get to know her daughter a little bit. Her daughter is a hospice nurse with my mother... and now I work with P. I didn't know what to expect when I got the notifications that P's mother, E, would be receiving hospices services. I don't feel like I really know this family, but my mother has worked with P for many years and considers her a friend, and E. was my very first client in the town. How could not feel somewhat connected.

E. is dying from breast cancer and it is extremely painful. She has two types of morphine to control the pain, and it still doesn't get it all. Holding her hand before I start, I watch the grimace on her face as she asks me "Why does it have to hurt this much?"

All I can do is my job, which is report her pain to the RN and assess the tolerance of massage. I try to work with her hands and feet to relax her and hopefully reducing some of her pain. This is why I am here, to reduce her pain enough that she doesn't have to be completely out due to pain meds. To help her make the most of the time she has left.

So after a couple of visits like this, I almost cried while tearing over country roads towards the stateline listening to Aimee Mann tell me, "It's not going to stop... 'till you wise up"

Not so surprising after all...